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SRU: Changing Private Ryan free porn video
SRU: Changing Private Ryan
By JDCopyhack
Dateline: June 6, 1944
It was dawn as the Higgins landing craft plowed through the choppy seas. The air
was thick with fog and the skies were overcast. The Allied High Command couldn't
have asked for better camouflage to begin the European invasion.
Aboard one of the craft, Private James Ryan stared blankly out to sea. Around
him, many of his fellow soldiers were in various stages of prayer. And those who
weren't were vomiting over the side of the vessel or onto the floor below. James
looked about him, he saw the fear in their eyes, and then clutched at the
strange medal that hung next to his dog tag. From a distance, it looked like a
typical St. Christopher's medal, like any good Irish-Catholic would be wearing.
But, up close, it was a different story.
James's concentration was shaken by the sounds of combat. From the cliffs above
Omaha Beach, the Germans had spotted the invasion force and began to fire.
American and British ships answered back, rocking the cliffs with a heavy
barrage. James squeezed the medal even harder and whispered to himself:
"I sure hope this works."
***
Through the sounds of war, his mind drifted a few weeks back to that fateful day
along Portobello Road. By then, he knew the invasion was imminent, and like any
20 year-old, he was scared to death. A feeling that was accentuated even more
once he learned that he would be part of the first wave of attackers.
Since his arrival in Britain, he had wandered these street several times before,
often stopping at the fruit market or to haggle with the jewelry merchants. On
this day, however, nothing really appealed to him. Instead, he simply wandered
aimlessly, enjoying the relaxing pace. The call to arms would come soon enough.
Doubling back toward the rail station, he noticed a tiny shop at Wicklow Corner.
"Funny," he said to himself. "I've never seen that shop before." Edging closer,
he read the name, etched into a simple wooden sign: Spells R Us. Impulse told
him to open the door and browse the shop. As he did, a small silver bell tinkled
his arrival.
It was a musty, dusty shop, filled with odd curios. One item, a wooden replica
of Lord Nelson's flagship, Victory, caught his attention. "Dad would like this."
he muttered as he reached for the model frigate.
"Please don't touch that!" a man called from behind him.
Startled, James turned around to see an old man behind the counter. He wore a
bathrobe and pointed hat. James thought that his long white beard made him look
a lot like a skinny Santa Claus.
"Don't you mean Father Christmas," the old man asked. "After all, we are in
England."
"Huh, what? How did you know..."
"There's not much I do not know, James. You see, I am a wizard."
"Yeah, right. And I'm General Eisenhower. Look, it's late, and I gotta be
getting back to base."
James turned on his heel and stepped toward the door when the old man spoke
again.
"It's okay to be afraid, James. You're young and should be home at the church
picnic with your girlfriend. What's her name? Melissa?"
"Yes... that's right. How do you know so much about me? Who put you up to this?
I know, I bet it was Reilly. He's always dogging me. Just wait till I get back
to base."
"No one put me up to this, James. You think it's just coincidence that you have
never seen this shop before. No, the reason you have never seen it here before
is because it's only been here for about 10 minutes. And after you leave the
shop, it will be gone once more. I came here to help you, James."
"Tell me, old man, how you can help me. I'm about to be shipped to France any
day now. The Germans are going to be aiming at my head."
"I have many potions and spells, James. I can make you stronger, braver, a
better shot. Whatever it takes to help you overcome your fear."
"Well, if you are a wizard like you say, why can't you just end the war with one
of your spells?"
"I wish that I could. But even a wizard as powerful as I is limited in what he
can do. I can only help those who are fighting this horrible war. Tell me,
James, how would you like me to help you?"
"You already know. I don't want to die."
"That's easy. Wait here. I'll be right back."
The old man disappeared into the back room. James considered leaving, to get
away from this crazy man as quickly as possible. But, what if the old man was a
wizard as he claimed?
"Almost lost you, didn't I?" the old man said as he returned to the counter.
"Here, I have something for you."
In his hands, the wizard held out a simple looking silver medal and chain. James
examined the object, which seemed to be etched with an image of the wizard
himself.
"No offense, but this looks like a piece of junk."
"Remember, looks can be deceiving. Believe me when I tell you that this cheap
looking medal possesses some powerful magic. You say you don't want to die, and
I know you are skeptical. But tell me, James, what do you have to lose by
wearing it?"
"How much?"
"Oh, my dear lad, I wouldn't think of charging you for it. You are here to
protect my beloved country and to free those countries that have been less
fortunate. You have already earned this, and I would be honored for you to wear
it on the field of battle."
With trembling hands, James took the medal and draped it around his neck,
feeling a static tingle as it rested against his chest. He then thanked the
wizard, who responded with a heartfelt salute, then turned to exit the store.
Once outside, he took several steps across the street and turned to look back.
The shop was gone.
***
"I'll see you on the beach."
Captain Miller's voice snapped James from his dream-like state. The Higgens
craft had landed and the ramp was lowered. As the Americans emptied out into the
cold, knee-deep waters, they were met with a shower of machine gun fire from the
pillboxes atop the cliffs.
Several men in front of him had already been cut down as James hit the water.
The weight of his gear, combined with the muddy sand below his feet, pitched him
forward, face first into the surf. Struggling to his feet, he found refuge
behind one of the steel cross barriers the Germans had anchored upon the shore
to inhibit Allied landings. Gunfire rained upon him, pinging off the cold steel.
Few in his platoon had survived the landing, and James clawed over dozens of
fallen bodies to join the remains of another platoon as it continued toward the
cliffs.
With each passing moment, another soldier fell. Shells and bodies seemed to
explode in unison and soon the beaches were dyed red from the bloody carnage.
James never heard the bullet that ripped into his temple. Instead, there was a
brief, white-hot flash of pain, then blackness...
***
A murmur of voices was the first thing to stir James from his deep, unconscious
state. Slowly, deliberately, he opened his eyes. The lids felt heavy, like lead.
He tried to raise his throbbing head, but his neck was too stiff. The effort too
painful. As his eyes eventually came into focus, he saw a nurse across the room
talking with a pair of GIs. Funny, he thought, why can I understand what the
nurse is saying, but not what the soldiers are saying?
He tried to speak and the words came out in an unintelligible whisper. His lips
felt thicker than usual and he tried again. This time, he caught the nurse's
attention, who smiled back at James then turned to call down the hallway. "She's
awake."
She? She who? James thought as he scanned the room. It seemed as if he were the
only one in here. Suddenly, a man and woman entered the room. The woman, who
appeared to be about 40, was crying. The man was older, perhaps in his late
60's. He just stood and smiled.
"Oh, Giselle, your grandfather and I were so worried about you."
This woman must be mad, James thought, as she reached down and kissed him
lightly on the cheek. The man held his hand, caressing it gently. Uncomfortable
with the affection being shown to him by these two total strangers, James
squirmed in his bed. Despite the pain, he lifted his head. When he did so, a
lock of brown hair fell across his face. He brushed it away and was surprised to
feel a thick tuft of hair, totally unlike the cropped, government-issued cut he
had gone to battle with.
Continuing to explore with hands that felt much smaller, he noticed that his
head was wrapped in a bandage. He had been shot in the head and survived. He was
a wizard!
But who was Giselle? And why were these strangers fawning over him. He got his
answer soon enough when he managed to sit straight up, only to see the visage of
a young woman staring back at him from a mirror across the room. She couldn't be
more than 16 or 17, a lovely young thing despite the bandage. When he raised his
hand, she did the same. When he opened his mouth, she repeated his actions. He
WAS the girl. Then, he started to cry.
"There, there," the woman said, holding him close. Mama will take care of you
now."
"What happened to me?" he asked, wondering more about his lost manhood than his
bandaged head. He was surprised at the softness of his voice.
Meanwhile, the old man explained how American paratroopers had landed in the
city, which had been occupied by German soldiers. During the ensuing battle, the
girl James had become was struck in the head by a ceiling beam that had fallen
during an explosion.
While her mother nursed her, the grandfather took to the streets looking for
medical help. Dodging bullets, he came across an American medic, who he
convinced to return to the house with him to help the girl. Initially, the girl
appeared to have died, but miraculously began breathing again after the medic
arrived. The next day, after the Allies had secured the town, Giselle was
transferred to the hospital for better care.
By the time the grandfather had finished his story, the doctor returned to the
room along with an American medic.
As the mother hugged the American, the doctor explained that he was the one who
accompanied the father back to the house and saved the young girl's life. James
smiled at him best as he could. The American spoke, but none of what he said
made any sense. By now, the full gravity of the situation had set in. Not only
had he become female, but he had also become French. English was now a foreign
language, one he did not understand.
As disturbing as all this was, James realized that he had survived the war. The
Allies had penetrated Hitler's vaunted "Atlantic Wall." Soon, if all went
according to plan, France would be liberated "before the fall of autumn leaves,"
just as Winston Churchill had promised.
***
Epilogue
Within a few days of his awakening, James returned to the simple farmhouse
Giselle called home. At first, the adjustment was a difficult one. After all,
not only had he changed sex, but also cultures. For obvious reasons, being
French was a lot easier than being female. But as time passed, he grew more
comfortable in his new role.
As a male, James had been six-feet-tall and weighed 180 pounds, but as a
Giselle, he barely stood five-feet-tall and couldn't weigh more than 100 pounds.
Working the farm with his new mother and grandfather, he obviously missed the
strength of his former body, but learned to appreciate the limberness of his new
female form.
Of course, having breasts took some getting used to. Though they weren't large,
they still moved and jiggled in a sometimes annoying fashion. At times, he had
to remind himself to sit to urinate, but it was the monthly "visitor" that
caused the greatest discomfort. Still, after time, he learned to cope.
Surprisingly, make-up and fashion came a bit easier. Giselle was an attractive
young woman, and James took pride in making her look her best.
By September, the Allies had liberated France, and a sense of normalcy started
to return to the tiny town. Just before Christmas, the inn re-opened and Giselle
took a job as a waitress. There she met a young GI named Rick Pennington, who
was among the second wave of American troops to storm Omaha Beach.
Against all reason, Giselle found herself falling in love with the young man,
and soon they were married. The war ended in May of 1945, and Giselle returned
to the United States. Not as James Ryan as she had originally hoped, but as a
pretty, French war bride.
The couple took advantage of the GI Bill, and purchased a home in a small town
in New Jersey. Rick became a building contractor, while Giselle practiced her
English and settled in as a housewife. Within six years, they had three
children.
By chance one day during a family vacation, Giselle found herself passing
through the tiny Vermont town where she had first grown up. Pointing to a dusty
country road, she asked Rick to follow the path toward a weathered, two-story
house. Outside, an old woman hung clothes on a line. It was Giselle's mother
from her past life.
Thousands of memories came flooding back. For a moment, she considered he
considered getting out of the car, racing to the old woman, and telling her what
really happened to her son. Figuring it would be best to leave well enough
alone, she asked her husband to drive on.
The years passed, and Giselle aged as all women do. In 1968, her eldest son,
Rick Jr. followed in his father's footsteps and served in Vietnam. He returned
safely four years later. In 1975, she became a grandmother for the first time.
Five more grandchildren would follow by the time the 50th anniversary of the D-
Day invasion came around in 1994.
To commemorate, the entire Pennington family returned to Omaha Beach for the
ceremonies. After speeches by the American and French presidents, as well as a
those made by a host of military and government dignitaries, Rick and Giselle
toured the historic sights so etched in their memories.
At the Normandy American Cemetery, Giselle excused herself while Rick reminisced
with some old Army buddies. Now 67, her movements were frail but filled with
purpose. Finally, she stopped at a simple white marble cross.
The inscription read:
Pvt. James Ryan
1924-1944
Wiping away a tear, she placed a single red rose upon the gravesite, then turned
and walked away.
The rest is history...
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